Min Bréostcofa
by AllIsButToys
Summary: He was living in the shadow of a ghost. His life had not been destined to follow this path. And yet, he found everything he had ever wanted.


_**Min**_** B**_**réostcofa**_

He was living in the shadow of a ghost. His life had not been destined to follow this path. When Théodred had died, Éomer had not realised the ramifications it would have on his future but when Théoden fell on the Pelinor fields Éomer found himself thrust into a world for which he had never been prepared. He grieved over the loss of his cousin but in his heart of hearts Éomer resented him for leaving him to this life.

From the steps in front of the Golden Hall Éomer watched as a group of Riders set off on another mission. Part of him wished he was with them. Since he was but a boy he had lived his life in the saddle, a Rider. He was ill prepared for the formal treaties and petitions of the leaders of Middle Earth. This was meant to have been his cousin's destiny, his cousin's throne... and his cousin's wife.

He could see her, tending to the herbs and vegetables she kept in her small garden. They had been married for just under a year. Éomer had fulfilled his uncle's promise to have her wed to his son, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth was too powerful an ally for the new king to have risked alienating.

Her hair was like polished bronze, falling in thick, loose curls to the middle of her back. Her skin was no longer as pale as it had been when they were wed, her love of being out of doors in the sunlight had seen to that, but her cheeks still flushed the same delicate shade of red when their eyes met. Lothíriel was a beautiful woman, that much could not be denied. She was a perfect queen for the people of Rohan, just as she had always been destined to be. She was meant to be Théodred's, like everything else he now had.

Éomer didn't think she had any idea of his feelings for her. In the beginning he had no idea of them himself. He had scoffed when Éowyn had warned him of what his marriage could mean, though she had been more concerned about her new cousin's heart than her brother's.

The night of their wedding had been fumbling and awkward. The life of a Rider and a nephew of the king had not allowed Éomer to enjoy the company of women in the way he knew some of the younger men did. He had not told Loithiriel but she was the only woman he had (and now would ever) know. She had been educated in propriety and held herself accordingly at all other times but when they were intimate Éomer could see the spark in her eyes. He longed to see that spark when she looked at him now but, as ever, her cheeks flushed with colour and she turned her eyes away.

After nearly a year she still was not comfortable in his presence. There was only one instance in which Éomer could remember her being even close to relaxed around him. It was a few weeks ago, he had returned from a hunt injured and had collapsed only a few moments after his feet had touched the ground. He didn't remember much of the first few days of the pain but he was later told that Lothíriel had taken one look at the wound on his leg and began barking out orders for clean towels and hot water. He still kept the piece of Uruk-hai blade she pulled out, a reminder of how close he came to death in those days.

Lothíriel had never left his side. She ordered the servants to bring their food to them and had Éomer's second in command, Escere, take over the Riders while she attended to the matters of court. All from within their rooms. Though drifting in and out of consciousness for the best part of a week, Éomer had learnt more about his young wife in those days than in the previous months of their marriage. He had known that she loved to garden but he hadn't known that she was also a master of herb lore, as she gave him herbs for the pain and to keep the wound clean. She was also a capable ruler, he learned as he watched her take control both of the running of the court and of the servants. But most of all, he found her engaging and interesting. They had never talked much in the past but now it seemed that there was little else Éomer could do. Lothíriel kept him amused with stories of her childhood, of growing up with her brothers and cousins. She missed Boromir now he was gone, but she had always been closer to Faramir than any other of her family. She did not say it aloud, but he could read the expression on her face when she talked of him. Éomer wished that she looked as happy when she looked at him, and that was when he realised.

He had fallen in love with her, with his wife, the woman who was meant to have been his cousin's. He had learned to cope with the shadow of Théodred hanging over the throne and the court, but not Lothíriel. He wanted something in his life that was just his, and he wanted it to be the woman he loved.

The sun was setting as he continued to watch her. He scowled at Escere as the younger man called out a friendly greeting to the Queen. They had become friends when Éomer was out on the rides and for that he was glad, he trusted Escere and it was good for Lothíriel to have someone who could protect her when he was not here. But his reasons for jealousy remained the same. How Éomer wished she would smile at him like that.

Éomer watched Lothíriel gather herself and disappear inside the hall. He stared after her, unaware that Escere was speaking to him.

'My lord?' The Marshal was grinning slyly. 'The hunt was a success,' he continued in a tone of exasperation, 'though I see that is not your concern.'

'No,' Éomer admitted, 'it is not.'

'Have you told her yet, Éomer?'

Éomer had been friends with Escere since they were but children. He was the only man he had confided in about his feelings for Lothíriel, although he had not told him why he kept them from her.

'It is not as simple as that, Escere.'

'Of course it is,' he scoffed. 'I think you underestimate her feelings for you,' he said in a softer voice. 'You do not see how happy she is when you return. You did not see how worried she was when you fell ill. Trust me, old friend,' he clapped Éomer on the shoulder, 'there is more to that woman than she lets you see.'

_Yes_, Éomer thought wearily, _I am sure there is much that she does not let me see._

He did not know if what Escere said was true, but Éomer thought about it as he made his way to their rooms. His leg was still stiff but no longer painful as he entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Their bed.

Lothíriel was obviously pottering about behind the dressing screen, he could hear her gentle movements, and he stripped off his outer clothes as he waited for her.

When she emerged she was wearing only a thin night-dress. Éomer's eyes glanced down her body and she blushed as they met her own, turning her face away.

'Why do you do that?' Éomer heard himself asking without really meaning to. 'Why do you turn away?'

Her grey eyes met his steadily, the first time he could remember her doing so. 'Do you wish me to be honest, my lord?' Éomer nodded and she continued in a sad, small voice. 'Because I cannot bear to see the sadness on your face when you look at me and I do not known what I have done to cause it.'

Éomer frowned as she continued to meet his gaze. 'You have done nothing, Lothíriel.'

'Then what is the cause?' She demanded, her voice rising in both confidence and volume before it fell to a whisper, 'Why are you so ashamed of me?'

'It is not you I'm ashamed of,' he whispered, dropping his head into his hands and whispering to the wood of the floor, 'You were never meant to be mine.'

And there it was, he thought. Lothíriel did not move, but her confusion was evident. She didn't know what he was talking about and so the words spilled out of him once again of their own accord.

'Everything I have wasn't meant to be mine. This life wasn't meant to be my destiny. It was meant to be my cousin's. But when Thedored died, I was the last male heir of the house of Erol. I was given a kingdom I didn't know how to rule, that I wasn't prepared for and then...'

'Then my father told you about the agreement.' She said and Éomer thought he heard understanding lace her voice.

'Yes,' he whispered, 'and every time I look at you I can't help but see the ghost of the man whose life I have stolen.'

'I never even knew about the pact until my father told me you intended to fulfil it.' Her voice was gentle as she moved to sit on her knees in front of Éomer and placed her hand on the side of his cheek. 'I never thought of myself as Théodred's wife, I never even met him when he was alive.' 'I never felt for him the way I feel for you, Éomer.' She had never called him by his first name before. Neither had she ever been the one to initiate any sort of intimacy between them. Éomer revelled in the sensation of her warm hand, the softness of her skin a sharp contrast against his rough cheek.

'And how is that?' He asked, his voice rough.

'I love you, Éomer.' Her voice was soft but determined. Éomer felt the words wash over him as he studied her face for any traces of deceit. He found none.

He gave her no warning as he crushed his lips to hers. Lothíriel let out a little whimper of surprise and he took the opportunity to plunder her mouth with his tongue. This was not the first time they had kissed, but never before had Éomer allowed himself to really show his wife how he felt. Before when they had been intimate to any degree he had always been reserved, unwilling to show her the depth of his feelings for her.

This was not the case now and Éomer pulled her closer to him, winding a hand in her wild curls and tilting her head back as he did so.

Despite her earlier confidence, Lothíriel did not response to his touch and Éomer cursed inwardly. 'I have loved you for some time now,' he assured her, watching her eyes grow wide.

He watched her bite her lip, eyes watering at his declaration. Her hands found their way under his shirt, roaming across his chest, but he felt them shake a little with her hesitancy. Éomer captured her lips once again, taking great pleasure in replacing her teeth on her bottom lip with his.

'Lothíriel,' he moaned as she began to unlace his shirt. Her answering smile was radiant. He never knew simply telling Lothíriel how he felt would embolden her so much. He couldn't say that he didn't appreciate it.

Éomer was no longer the nervous young man he had been the first time he had come to their marriage bed but he recognised that everything had changed between them now. For the first time he wanted to make sure that Lothíriel was well satisfied before he even thought about entering her. She may have been the only woman he had ever known but Éomer had been on enough rides to hear men talk. He touched her willingly, watching as she bit her bottom lip against the sounds she tried to hold back.

'There is no shame in showing your husband how you feel,' he whispered in her ear, supping her breasts in his large hands before stroking them down her abdomen. 'Please, _min_ _bréostcofa_,don't hold yourself apart from me.'

The spark that Éomer had only ever seen hinted at before raged in her eyes as Lothíriel raised her lips to his. As he felt her shudder under him Éomer had never felt co close to her, only to be overcome by the same feeling as her body welcomed his. Éomer looked straight into the grey-green depths of her eyes as he moved, feeling as if it was their very souls and not their bodies engaged in this timeless dance.

When finally he surrendered to pleasure and exhaustion, Éomer held his wife close, unwilling to be parted from her, if even for a moment. As he watched her eyes flutter closed Éomer was once again struck by the realisation that Lothíriel might never have been his to know in this way. Now, however, the idea didn't fill him with the same sense of fear and helplessness that it had done previously. Now he could let the memory of Théodred rest in peace instead of his presence being a spirit which haunted his every step. He would be grateful for this life and do his best to make his uncle and his cousin proud.

_Never again will I be ungrateful for what you have given me_.

**Author's Notes**

'_Min_ _bréostcofa' _means 'my heart' in Old English (it is a very rough translation, mind you).

I had this story mulling about for a while. Originally it was going to be a multi-chapter but it never really took off anytime I tried to start it. I think that this short story had worked much better.

Escere is not a character from the books but I have kept with Tolkien-tradition and named him after a character from Beowulf.

I have also taken a bit of artistic licence with the history of these two. Tolkien never says anything about a previous engagement between Rohan and Dol Amroth but I thought it was an interesting (and highly likely) idea, and served to symbolise the extent to which Éomer might have been living a life that was never meant to be his.


End file.
